Cast Aside
by EdwardsMate4ever
Summary: Carlisle thought he loved the copper-haired boy...until he met a woman who would change their lives forever. Inspired by the music of Rufus Wainwright. VampSlash.
1. Prologue

**Cast Aside  
**

**Prologue**

_**1999**_

Carlisle sat in the audience of the small music hall, his wife at his side, his children seated behind them. After decades of patient encouragement, Edward had finally agreed to share his insurmountable musical talent with the masses. He had been reluctant to do so, knowing that he only had one chance—a matter of about five years—to be visible to the public. After that, people would notice that he didn't age, and he would have to recede back into the shadows.

And so, Edward's premiere was carefully planned. It was perfect timing; the world was ready for his brand of music. The audience sat in rapt attention as Edward's hands flitted over the keys of his baby grand, his haunting voice filling the acoustically perfect auditorium.

Carlisle was proud of him. Edward had been mired in a state of depression for most of his second life. This was the outlet he needed so that he might finally begin to heal. Carlisle sighed in relief; maybe now, the burden he'd been shouldering for so long would be alleviated, at least to some small degree.

Edward's current song came to a close and the audience applauded with vigor. His set was nearly over, and it was clear that he had won over this particular crowd. The record producers in the audience were on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce when he left the stage. But he wasn't done just yet. There was still one song left to be sung.

Edward swallowed and closed his eyes as he waited for the applause to die down. When the hall was once again shrouded in silence, his long, slender fingers began to coax a haunting melody from his piano; the instrument an extension of his own body. Leaning forward as if to kiss the microphone, he began to sing:

_No matter how strong_

_I'm gonna take you down_

_With one little stone_

_I'm gonna break you down_

_And see what you're worth_

_What you're really worth to me_

It was a favorite pastime of Carlisle's; trying to figure out the meaning behind Edward's songs. This was not one he had heard before. He listened carefully to the words spill from the depths of Edward's soul.

_Dinner at eight was okay_

_Before the toast full of gleams_

_It was great until those old magazines_

_Got us started up again_

_Actually it was probably me again_

_Why is it so_

_That I've always been the one who must go_

_That I've always been the one told to flee_

_When in fact you were the one long ago_

_Actually in the drifting white snow_

_You left me_

Carlisle's breath hitched in his throat. This song. It was about _him_. Them. The very events that had left Edward so broken. Edward heard his maker's thoughts, and he turned his head slightly to meet Carlisle's gaze. His golden eyes contained a hardness to them that clearly said: I have not forgiven you.

_So put up your fists and I'll put up mine_

_No running away from the scene of the crime_

_God's chosen a place_

_Somewhere near the end of the world_

_Somewhere near the end of our lives_

Edward tore his gaze away and closed his eyes again as he went into the next stanza of his lament.

_But 'til then no, Daddy, don't be surprised_

_If I wanna see the tears in your eyes_

_Then I know it had to be long ago_

_Actually in the drifting white snow_

_You loved me_

Carlisle swallowed hard at the lump that had formed in his throat. So Edward _did_ recognize that Carlisle had indeed loved him once. He hadn't meant to use Edward, but it had ended up that way. Edward may be aware of Carlisle's struggle, but that didn't mean he accepted it.

_No matter how strong_

_I'm gonna take you down_

_With one little stone_

_I'm gonna break you down_

_And see what you're worth_

_What you're really worth to me_

As the last notes rang out, the audience erupted in applause. Edward barely acknowledged it. Instead, he simply rose from his seat, gave a slight nod to his admirers, and strode offstage, his jaw drawn tight. Carlisle couldn't move; he was frozen in his seat as his family stood around him, joining in on the standing ovation, whooping and hollering with the crowd. Esme nudged his shoulder with her hip, urging him with her eyes to rise. He did, if only to avoid drawing attention to himself. Edward had done a good job of hiding his hurt over the years, but it was clear that he wasn't over it.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

**A/N:** The song is "Dinner at Eight" by Rufus Wainwright.

youtu _DOT_ be _SLASH_ z8Ph14w4vWk

This story will be a slow roll-out. Speed of updates might pick up in there is a lot of interest, so if you enjoyed this, please let me know in a review.


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Thank you for all of the interest in this story; it is much appreciated! Thank you as always to harrytwifan and remylebeauishot, my amazing betas. And a huge shoutout to MinaRivera for creating such a wonderful banner as a surprise to me! It's gorgeous, hun, thank you!  
**_

_**October 1918**_

With the utmost care, Carlisle pulled the sheet over the man, effectively pronouncing him dead. The latest victim of the Spanish flu had to be no older than thirty eight—such a waste of life and vitality. After a moment of silent reflection, Carlisle motioned for the nurse to take him to the morgue. _The morgue probably held more bodies at this point than the beds in this hospital_, Carlisle thought grimly. Now came the part that Carlisle dreaded the most—relaying the bad news to the surviving family in the waiting room.

Edward Masen had arrived in Carlisle's care only hours before. He was told that Masen had been brought in by his wife and teenaged son, coughing up blood and unable to walk on his own. The intake nurse had explained that his son was fully supporting the weight of his father, struggling to keep him on his feet. As soon as Carlisle entered the patient's room, he could smell death approaching. There was nothing that could be done; the man was too far gone. That was the trouble with this epidemic—sometimes the onset was slow enough that something could be done, but most of the time it hit like a tidal wave, claiming its victims within twenty four hours. The latter was the case for Edward Masen.

Carlisle wished there was something he could do to stop the spread of this disease, but there was nothing to be done. Carlisle Cullen was a vampire disguised as a human doctor, but he was not to be feared. He was a rarity among vampires—he abstained from drinking the blood of humans, preferring to retain his humanity and help humans in need. Instead of giving in to his basest desire, he instead subsisted on the blood of animals, and that kept him satisfied enough. After centuries of practice, he hardly recognized the call of human blood anymore, and of that he prided himself. He was always in complete control, and although he sometimes had to allow a patient to die so as not to reveal his superior senses to other humans, he rarely lost a patient.

Until now. This flu was infuriating to Carlisle. When he went home after his overnight shift, under the pretense of needing to sleep, he spent his days immersed in research. But this flu was unlike any in history, and Carlisle could find no way to stop it. It struck without rhyme or reason, taking life from the young and virile, while similar epidemics typically claimed the old and weak. It made no sense, and Carlisle had no choice but to watch the humans around him fall and succumb to the disease.

As the nurse wheeled Mr. Masen out of the room, Carlisle gathered his personal effects from the bedside table: his wedding ring, a pocket watch, a billfold, a monogrammed cigarette case and lighter set. The last bits of this man for his family to hold dear. Holding the items in his open palm, he stared at them for a moment before slipping them into a satchel. He knew that the moment Masen's wife laid eyes on the bag, she would know her husband was gone. How he dreaded having to be the one to dash a family's hopes of recovery.

With a heavy heart, Carlisle walked down the hallway to the waiting room. On the way, he passed by cots that held the deathly ill, the overcrowded hospital no longer having proper space for these poor souls. Parting the curtain separating the ill from the healthy, Carlisle stepped into the room. His eyes scanned the crowd of people waiting for word on their loved ones' prognoses. He hadn't been there for Masen's intake—how would he know which family to approach? The entry door pushed open in that moment as a new patient arrived, allowing the cool, late October air to gust through the room.

And then it hit him. The overwhelming scent of the most delicious blood he'd ever smelled. His sensitive nose immediately located the source. Sitting in one of the chairs, next to an auburn-haired woman who looked to be his mother, was a young man with penny-colored hair. Carlisle couldn't see his face, as he was staring down at the floor, his mother's arm wrapped around his slender shoulders. Carlisle's mouth flooded with venom at the scent of him; this was the first time in decades that Carlisle struggled to control the urge to drink from a human. Shaking his head to clear it, Carlisle tore his eyes from the boy and approached the intake desk.

"Good evening, Minerva. Can you tell me which is the family of Edward A. Masen?"

Minerva gave a curt nod without looking up from her paperwork, extending a finger in the direction of the boy who had stirred the monster lurking inside him. The woman had heard the mention of her husband's name, and she was looking at Carlisle, her teary eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and fear. Swallowing hard and tamping down the beast inside as only he could, Carlisle began to walk over to the pair. As he walked, the woman noticed the satchel in the doctor's hand, and all hope in her eyes was lost as she broke down, her hands covering her face as her shoulders shook violently.

The boy looked up from the floor then, his tired face drawn in concern for his mother. "Mama?" He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him. "Mama?"

The boy sensed the presence of Carlisle as he stood before them, and he raised his eyes to meet the doctor's gaze. Carlisle struggled not to gasp at the sight of him. The boy was the most beautiful creature Carlisle had ever laid eyes on, and his vibrant green eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul. The scent of this boy's blood, combined with his innocent beauty, aroused something long dormant within Carlisle. There was a stirring in the vampire's trousers and an ache in his belly as their eyes remained locked together.

Embarrassed, Carlisle broke eye contact with the alluring boy and looked to his mother. "Mrs. Masen?" She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I am sorry to inform you that we were unable to save your husband. He has passed on."

The woman swallowed hard. "I know. Thank you for doing your best, Doctor..."

"Cullen. Carlisle Cullen."

"Doctor Cullen. Thank you." Masen's wife turned to her son. "Come on, Junior, take me home."

Carlisle glanced back at the boy as he stood and helped his mother to her feet. The muscles in his neck were taut, his jaw set tight, as he struggled to put on a brave face for his mother's sake. Carlisle couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for the boy who cared for his mother's feelings above his own.

As the young man ushered his mother toward the door, Carlisle realized that he was still holding the satchel with Edward Masen's belongings. With a few long strides, he caught up to the pair. He cleared his throat to get their attention; he didn't dare to touch the boy—he didn't think he would be able to control what might happen if he did.

"Ahem. Young man?"

The boy turned around and raised an eyebrow, but did not speak. Carlisle held out the satchel. "Your father's personal effects."

The teenager stared at the bag for a moment before reaching out to take it. His long, slender fingers brushed Carlisle's briefly as he took the bag, and Carlisle felt his skin burn under the accidental touch. The boy flinched at the feel of the doctor's cool skin, but said nothing, just gave a slight nod of acknowledgment before leading his mother out into the night. Carlisle stood rooted in place, watching their forms slowly disappear into the darkness.

* * *

A week passed, and Carlisle could not get that beautiful boy out of his mind. Carlisle had experienced this obsessive desire once before, in Columbus, Ohio, several years before. His compulsion for the young woman all those years ago had driven him from that city in an effort to relieve her of the burden of his existence. Carlisle feared that he may have to do the same again.

When the flu was over, Carlisle vowed to move on from Chicago and forget the boy. He should be allowed to live his life without being watched by a lonely vampire filled with a dangerous desire for his body and blood. But, Carlisle would indulge himself; he felt overwhelmingly compelled to see the boy again, at least once more, hopefully in a more happy state.

Carlisle remembered the home address of Mr. Masen from the cursory glance he had given to the identification in his billfold. One cloudy evening, on his way to the hospital for his shift, Carlisle took a detour down toward the Masen home. This was perfect; he had to be at the hospital at a specific time, which gave him a reason to leave. Otherwise, Carlisle thought he might fall under the boy's spell, and do something he would regret.

The street was deserted, save for a stray dog sniffing around for a scrap to eat. Carlisle watched as the scrawny mongrel, finding nothing to ease its hunger, limped off into one of the yards up ahead. He found himself pitying the dog; it was more than likely that it wasn't a true stray, but that its family had fallen victim to this sudden plague.

Finally, Carlisle was in front of the home that Edward Masen had once lived in. The lawn and bushes lining the front of the home were unkempt—perhaps Mrs. Masen didn't have the wherewithal to keep up with the gardening, or perhaps their gardener had also succumbed to disease. Regardless of the reason, the overgrowth was a perfect cover for Carlisle to hide amongst.

Carlisle could hear the faint sounds of footsteps, followed by the heavy thunk of wood clashing against wood. There was a rustle of clothing, and then, the sound of piano keys played in order from high to low, as though someone was running a hand across the keys. Carlisle followed the sounds to a window at the side of the house and peered inside.

There was his boy, sitting on the piano bench, silently contemplating the piano before him. Thankful for the window pane diminishing the potent scent of his blood, Carlisle's nether regions couldn't help but respond to the sight of the boy; so much more beautiful in person than in his memory. Wistfully, Carlisle wondered what it would be like to touch his warm, supple skin, to taste his sensual, pink lips. The boy snapped out of his reflections and cracked his knuckles, placing his long fingers above the keys of his choosing. And then, he began to play.

_Wandering properties of death_

_Arresting moons within our eyes and smiles_

_We did rest_

_Amongst the granite tombs to catch our breath_

The tone of his boy's voice, and the impact of his lyrics, had Carlisle in rapt attention. He couldn't tear his eyes away if his life depended on it. All he could do was stand stock-still and let the boy's music wash over him.

_Worldly sounds of endless warring_

_Were for just a moment silent stars_

_Worldly boundaries of dying_

_Were for just a moment never ours_

_All was new_

_Just as the black horizons blue_

Carlisle was hypnotized by the boy's melodious, enchanting voice. The sounds he pulled from the piano were a perfect complement to his lament over the loss of his father. His talent was undeniable, if not a touch rough around the edges.

_Then along the bending path away_

_I smiled in knowing I'd be back one day_

As the last notes rang out, the boy bent his head, his shoulders slumping. Carlisle could smell the tears that streaked down his cheeks. Suddenly, Carlisle felt intrusive, watching this boy in mourning. Ashamed at himself, Carlisle turned away from the house and slipped into the shadows. As he made his way to work, he vowed to leave the boy alone. In truth, he was only torturing himself, wanting something that could never be. He would give the flu epidemic a few more weeks, and then he would move on, as he had in Columbus.

* * *

It was November, and the flu had shown no signs of subsiding. There was so much death in the city of Chicago; it would not surprise him if the death toll now outnumbered the living. Carlisle had kept true to his word. He'd successfully avoided the Masen home, though it was a daily inner struggle. But he refused to allow himself the pleasure of the sight of that boy. It was a dangerous game he would be playing, and it was not worth the risk of exposure, or tarnishing his record of never tasting the blood of a human.

As Carlisle approached the front desk, he took note of the large stack of patient charts awaiting him. The stack never ceased to get taller with each passing evening. Sighing heavily, he picked up the pile and began to scan through the names. One name in particular gave him pause.

"Minerva? There must be some mistake. This man, Edward A. Masen, passed on a few weeks ago. Perhaps his paperwork was filed incorrectly?" he questioned her, holding out the sheet for her to see.

"No, Dr. Cullen, there is no mistake," she informed him after taking a cursory glance at the paper.

"This is for Edward A. Masen, _Junior_—his son."

* * *

**A/N:** Lyrics from "In a Graveyard" by Rufus Wainwright.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_**November 1918**_

Carlisle stood stock-still in his apartment, staring at the slow-moving hands of the clock on the mantel, waiting for nightfall. He wished fervently that he did not need to pretend to sleep; all he wanted to do was be near _that boy_. And it seemed to Carlisle that their time together would be cut short sooner than he'd like.

It had been three days since Edward Masen Junior and his mother were admitted to the hospital, showing clear signs of the influenza. They were fading fast—Carlisle would not be surprised if this night was their last. When they'd first arrived, Carlisle thought they might have a chance at survival, as their symptoms were not as advanced as other cases he'd seen. All too quickly, however, the influenza wreaked its havoc. After that first day, Edward had been barely coherent as the fever ravaged his body, his breaths growing ragged as his lungs began to slowly fill with blood. His coughs were painful to listen to as his body tried to rid itself of the encroaching suffocation.

Edward's mother fared no better, but valiantly (or stupidly, Carlisle wasn't sure), she insisted on continuing to mother her child, fretting and fussing over his bedside. The nurses joked about tying her to her bed—Carlisle was beginning to think that wasn't such a bad idea. At this rate, she would never have a chance at recovery, and then, if Edward were to survive, he would be alone in the world. Not that it seemed likely that he would overcome the influenza, but still.

As Carlisle waited for the hands of the clock to indicate it was time to return, he wondered what it was about this boy that drew him so. He remembered a time when he was living in Volterra; one of the ruling brothers, Aro, had told him of the existence of singers: a human whose blood called to a specific vampire so strongly that it was nearly impossible to resist. Carlisle suspected that Edward was his singer, but after hundreds of years of impeccable self-control, he found himself able to resist. But it wasn't easy.

Carlisle would be lying if he didn't admit that there was something more that drew him to the boy, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what that was. He felt happier when he was in Edward's presence, almost like he was…complete, for lack of a better word. Carlisle never got too close to others, human or vampire, and he was a lonely soul. When Edward was near, he didn't feel so alone. It was a strange feeling; the boy was so far gone, it wasn't as if they'd really conversed much. All the same, Carlisle felt a pull to be near him. It wasn't ruled by the burn in his throat, but rather, a burning in the very core of his being. A small part of him wondered if Edward might be his mate. Carlisle had no experience with love. His entire existence, he had been a solitary creature; the urge to mate present, but never acted upon. It confused him to think that his mate might be male, so he did his best to push those thoughts away.

Finally, the clock indicated it was time to leave, and Carlisle walked as quickly as he dared to the hospital. He exchanged pleasantries with the head nurse, Minerva, before heading straight to the room that contained the Masens. As he approached their room, Edward's scent grew stronger, and Carlisle swallowed hard against the flood of venom that filled his mouth. Even tainted with disease, the boy's blood smelled delicious.

When Carlisle pushed open the door, he was greeted by the sight of a half-naked, unconscious Edward. A washbasin sat on the bedside table, a bathing sponge discarded inside. The nurses must have given him a sponge bath to help soothe the burning fever. His mother, Elizabeth, moaned restlessly in her sleep on the cot beside him, lost in fever-induced dreams, no doubt. Both were gaunt, ravaged. Their bodies had lost so much mass, it was as though they were living skeletons, clinging to the last shreds of life. Such a shame. Such a waste. Carlisle swallowed against the lump in his throat as he made his way first to Elizabeth, then to Edward, checking their vitals.

Carlisle pulled up a stool next to Edward's cot, and took the boy's wrist in his hand, checking his pulse. It was slow and thready, a poor sign. His skin was sticky with sweat, and warm with fever, but it was also soft and delicate. Carlisle felt the now-familiar stirring in his pants, and he mentally chastised himself. This inexplicable sexual impulse he felt toward the dying boy made him sick to his stomach, and he struggled to push those thoughts from his mind, willing his erection to deflate.

A quiet crackling began to sound in Edward's chest, and the boy awoke, coughing violently. The doctor quickly circled his arm around Edward's back, lifting him easily to a sitting position, so he would not choke on his own blood. Edward's body shivered in response to Carlisle's cold skin, and his green eyes flew open. To Carlisle's dismay, Edward's eyes were no longer clear, but foggy and unfocused with pain and illness. His chest continued to heave as his hacking cough grew louder and more violent. Carlisle rubbed the boy's back to comfort him, murmuring that he would be all right. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to Edward's mouth to catch the outpouring of blood and spittle and phlegm. Morbidly, Carlisle made a mental note to hang on to this handkerchief, so he might never lose the scent of his singer's blood.

When Edward's body deemed him finished, the boy sagged against Carlisle's shoulder in defeat. Carlisle hugged him for a moment, brushing his sweaty bronze hair off of his heated forehead. Reluctantly, he pulled one arm away from his boy and poured some water from the pitcher on the bedside table into a glass, and held it up to Edward's dry, cracked lips.

"Here, drink this."

Edward did as he was told, watching his doctor with wide eyes as Carlisle gently tipped the glass to his lips, allowing him small sips of liquid at a time. When the glass was half-empty, Edward pulled back, apparently finished, so Carlisle set the glass back down. He turned back to the boy, and found him still staring, his sea-green eyes boring into him. Carlisle suppressed a shudder; he felt as though Edward could see into his soul.

Finally, Edward spoke, his voice raspy from disuse. "You…you really care for me."

Carlisle could think of nothing to say. They just stared at each other for a time, their gazes held unwavering. Edward's eyes began to darken, and his tongue slid out to wet his lips. Carlisle couldn't help but wonder if this was some kind of invitation, or if it was a result of the fever. He leaned down closer, and the boy's lips parted, his eyes sliding closed. Was he about to speak? Did he want Carlisle to kiss him? Carlisle wouldn't get the chance to find out, because a nurse had just opened the door to the room, carrying fresh washcloths and water.

The doctor swiftly leapt to his feet. "How is he?" the nurse innocently asked.

Carlisle glanced down at Edward—he had fallen back into unconsciousness. "No different, I'm sorry to say."

The nurse frowned. "And his mother?"

"Much the same as her son."

The nurse sighed. "If only she would stay in her bed, but she is so insistent on taking care of her boy. I keep telling her that I will make sure he is cared for, but she won't listen."

"He is her baby. What can you expect from her?"

The nurse nodded in understanding and the pair of them left the room. Carlisle did not want to leave, but he had appearances to keep up, rounds to make. He would return again near the end of his shift. For now, there were more deathly ill patients to care for.

* * *

In the early morning hours, Carlisle returned to the Masens' room to find Elizabeth struggling to make it out of bed. Her body was too weak, however, and she could scarcely raise herself up on her elbows before collapsing back down on the thin mattress. Carlisle rushed to her side.

"Mrs. Masen, you must stay in bed. You are too weak to be moving about," Carlisle explained gently, fluffing up her pillow and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand. She sighed at the contact, but her eyes kept darting to the bed beside hers.

"He's still alive, Mrs. Masen. Try to rest yourself. You want to live for him if he pulls through, don't you?"

She sighed, making herself cough slightly. "I will not make it out of this alive, Doctor. It is only right that I make sure my son does." She was silent for a few moments as she gazed at her son's unconscious form. When her eyes met Carlisle's once more, they were wet with unshed tears. "But he won't make it, will he, Doctor?"

"There is always a chance, but it doesn't look good, I'm sorry to say."

Elizabeth gasped, her eyes closing, squeezing out the tears that had welled up there. Her hand found Carlisle's, and she gripped it tightly, with strength that seemed impossible for her weakened muscles and bones. When her eyes reopened, they stared into Carlisle's with clarity and determination. The look she gave him chilled him to the bone—it felt as though she was scrutinizing him. When she finally spoke, her voice was unnaturally clear and steady.

"You must do everything in your power. What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Edward."

Carlisle could do nothing but gape at the woman who seemed to know him for what he truly was. Did she know what she was asking of him?

Before he could gather his thoughts to respond, Elizabeth's grip on his hand grew slack. Her lips parted as she drew her final ragged breath, and then the light in her eyes went out. She was dead. Aghast and confused, Carlisle disentangled his hand from hers and gently closed her lifeless eyes.

Sitting at her bedside, Carlisle looked over at Edward. He hadn't stirred, and his pulse was barely audible. His breaths were shallow and spread too far apart. He was approaching death rapidly. Carlisle had to decide what to do, and fast. But there were so many questions that plagued him.

Could Elizabeth have truly known that Carlisle was inhuman? Would she have asked him to save her son if she knew the kind of life Carlisle would give him? Would Edward even want this half-life? Would he resent Carlisle for changing him, tying him to Carlisle for all eternity as his sire, while his own true parents had been allowed to die? If Carlisle had had a choice when he was turned, he surely would have chosen death. But now he would have to be the one to choose between life and death for this boy.

Selfishly, he chose life.

The vampire did not want to be lonely any longer. And he felt so drawn to this boy. He couldn't fathom giving up his first chance at happiness in centuries. But would the boy even want him? And once he'd tasted the blood of his singer, would Carlisle be able to stop drinking in time?

Carlisle decided that he would have to take that risk. Reverently, he covered Elizabeth with a sheet and gently wheeled her body to the morgue. It pained him to add her to the piles of corpses in that death-filled room, but he had little choice. There was simply no room to leave a gurney. Her body would wind up in a mass grave with the other lost souls in this room.

Returning to their room, he took a long look at the boy before he drew a sheet up over Edward's face. Carlisle fervently hoped he'd be able to stop from killing him. His own expression somber, he wheeled the boy down the barren hallway, barely receiving a second glance from the one nurse he passed. When he reached the morgue, he glanced around him. No one was near. Swiftly, he gathered the boy in his arms and left out the back door. Under cover of darkness, he climbed the nearest building with one hand, heading home to his apartment on the outskirts of town, out of sight of any humans who might possibly be awake at this early hour.

As he leapt over the rooftops, clutching his precious cargo, Carlisle couldn't get the boy's song out of his head.

_Worldly sounds of endless warring_

_Were for just a moment silent stars_

_Worldly boundaries of dying_

_Were for just a moment never ours_

_All was new_

_Just as the black horizons blue_

* * *

**A/N:** A few things today:

First, this is the last of my pre-written chapters, so it might take a little bit longer for the next chapter to post. Thank you so much for your encouragement - it definitely motivates me to write faster. Special thanks to my friends, remylebeauishot and harrytwifan, for prereading._  
_

Second, I'm writing for the **Slash Backslash 4.0** contest! It's a little different this year – it's anonymous! So head on over and read the stories! Submissions are being extended to September 17th…so get reading! There are Art entries this year too; lots of great stuff! I'll be sure to remind you again once voting begins!

slashbackslash DOT livejournal DOT com

And finally, my one-shot, The Pretense of Dominance and Control, has been nominated for an **Emerging Swan Award**, which are awards given to underappreciated works! The category is Best Vamp Volturi/Nomad/Non-Cullen (any pairing). Voting starts TODAY for one-shots! If you liked the story, please head over to vote!

emergingswanawards DOT blogspot DOT com


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**November 1918**_

As Carlisle ran over rooftops with the dying boy clutched tightly in his arms, he reconsidered taking Edward to his apartment. Should Edward survive the bite, Carlisle did not want him to awaken in the city with the notoriously strong lust for blood that every newborn possessed. Instead, Carlisle took him to a small abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of Chicago, far from any nearby humans. He had found the spot on a recent hunt and had explored the property out of curiosity. It was dilapidated, but he had seen an old mattress there, so it would suit his purposes.

Arriving not a moment too soon, Carlisle burst through the shoddy door. Edward's breaths were rare by that time, and his pulse was barely audible, even to Carlisle's sensitive ears. Though no moon shone in the sky that night, Carlisle had no trouble locating the dingy mattress, and he carefully laid Edward out on it. Drawing back, Carlisle regarded Edward's gaunt frame for several minutes. He struggled with how to approach this. It had never crossed his mind to turn another person, and so, Carlisle had never considered in what way to administer his venom.

Unfortunately, time was of the essence, so his reflections had to be cut short. He decided to simply do what he knew; he would recreate the wound that had been inflicted upon him. That vampire had intended to drain him; he had only been "spared" death because the vampire had gotten distracted. There was nothing to distract Carlisle in this farmhouse—he said a silent prayer to God, asking for the control necessary to stop drinking the human's blood when the time came. Would he know when that time was? Would he even be able to stop? This would be Carlisle's first taste of human blood. To say he was frightened would be an understatement, but Carlisle had committed himself to this—it was now or never; Edward would be dead in minutes, if not less.

The benevolent vampire lowered himself to his knees and bent over the frail human, taking one last look at the boy. He looked terrible: sallow cheeks, sunken eyes, hair drenched in sweat and plastered to his head. And yet, Carlisle still found himself drawn to him, as though Edward was surrounded by a magnetic pull. It was this force that drew Carlisle's mouth to the boy's sinewy neck. He inhaled deeply; a big mistake. Carlisle immediately felt lightheaded at the close proximity of the scent, even polluted as it was by illness. His lips drew back from his teeth of their own accord, and his thoughts clouded with need as he sank his teeth into the boy's tender flesh.

He was surprised to discover the ease with which his teeth broke the skin, and it was mere milliseconds before the boy's life blood began to flood Carlisle's mouth. The vampire groaned loudly as the taste of Edward exploded on his tongue—the flavor was like nothing Carlisle had even come in contact with, impossible to describe. A euphoria fell over the vampire, causing his brain to become devoid of all thought, save for one: _Must keep drinking._

Finally, Edward gained enough strength to react to the burning sensation at the wound, and a whimper left his cracked lips. A weak hand lifted and pushed against Carlisle's arm as the boy struggled to escape from the pain of the bite. Carlisle registered these things, but he was too consumed with the blood rushing into his mouth, overwhelming his senses. It was only when he felt a droplet slip into his hair, the scent of salt unmistakable, that Carlisle came back to himself. The boy was crying; Carlisle was killing him.

Before he could convince himself to finish drinking, Carlisle abruptly removed his teeth from Edward's neck. For a moment, he stared at the gaping wound. He needed to seal it. If he didn't, the boy might bleed out before the venom had a chance to take effect. But if he tasted the blood again…

Carlisle spat his red-tinged venom into the palm of his hand, and applied it to Edward's neck. The wound closed swiftly, and there was an overwhelming silence in the room for several minutes. Carlisle began to think that he had drunk too much, that it hadn't worked.

It all happened so fast. One minute, Edward was motionless and silent. The next, his head was thrashing from side to side, quiet moans growing louder as the venom worked its way through his bloodstream. Moans turned to bloodcurdling screams, and his limbs convulsed as his earthly body was consumed by the invisible flames. Carlisle's chest constricted at the sight and sound of Edward's pain, the memory of his own change all too clear in his mind. He was glad he chose the shack instead of the apartment. Surely, the authorities would have been called once the horrific screams Edward was producing were heard. His vocal cords couldn't hold out for too long, though, and, after a few hours, his agonized cries turned to whimpers, before petering out altogether. His muscles were still tense, though—the pain was far from over, his voice had just given out.

The silence was deafening as Carlisle waited. Hours passed as the venom worked its magic, redefining weakened muscles and sharpening Edward's features. The change was gradual, but Carlisle could not tear his eyes from the boy burning before him, so he missed none of it. The vampire had lost conception of time—he knew the sun had risen and fallen in one full cycle. There was still much that the venom needed to do. Carlisle wasn't sure how long it would take; when he had been changed, his pain has consumed him so terribly that he hadn't noticed the days ending and beginning, but he did remember that it seemed to take at least forty eight hours, perhaps even seventy two.

Carlisle could only imagine what must be going through Edward's mind at this moment. Did he believe himself dead, being punished in the fiery pits of Hell for some small infraction? Perhaps it wasn't a minor offense; perhaps the boy had done evil things in his short life, things worthy of hellfire. Carlisle realized that he knew nothing of Edward's past, and that this was a distinct possibility. But somehow, Carlisle doubted this. Edward could not be a wicked person, not with a mother like Elizabeth to guide him. The poor young man probably thought he was doomed to burn for eternity for some small slight, like eating another boy's apple in the schoolyard. For several hours, Carlisle considered what Edward's life might have been like when he was human. He hoped that the boy would be happy in his new life; Carlisle hoped that he could make that happen for him.

Eventually, Carlisle could not stand to sit by any longer. He had no need to hunt; Edward's blood had satisfied his need to drink for now. The farmhouse was abandoned, so there was nothing left to distract him, not even a stray book. Spying an old basin in the corner, he thought he might wash the boy off. The poor boy was covered in his own sweat, and he stank of illness; Carlisle thought it best for Edward to wake up feeling fresh, especially with the powerful sense of smell he was destined to possess. Outside, the vampire could hear the gentle babbling of a brook—it was nearby, so Carlisle would not have to go far to fill the basin. Going to retrieve it, he noticed a rag inside the bucket. It looked fairly clean, although it was rather dusty. A good shake and a rinse in the brook would fix that, though. With a glance over his shoulder at the motionless boy, Carlisle swiftly left, returning minutes later with a full basin.

Crouching beside Edward, Carlisle hoped that the cool water would soothe the burning sensation somewhat. Slowly, so as not to jostle him too much, Carlisle unbuttoned the white linen shirt given to all hospital patients, shrugging it off of his shoulders and lifting Edward's body to slide it out from under him. His body odor was heady, unhindered by the clothing, and Carlisle felt his penis move of its own volition. Swallowing hard, he tried to will it away as he set to work, dipping the rag into the basin, wringing it out, and gliding over Edward's sticky skin. He was beautiful, the venom having already restored the muscle mass to the point of health. Edward wasn't burly by any means—he was still a young man—but his lean form was still enticing. Carlisle began to struggle between his rational mind and his traitorous penis. As he rubbed Edward gently with the cloth, the boy's heartbeat began to calm. It was working. Whether the cool water helped soothe the burning, or whether it was simply a distraction, Carlisle did not know, but whatever it was, it mattered not. What Carlisle was doing was helping somehow, and he felt relief by proxy.

The odor now gone from his upper body, Carlisle halted for a moment. He regarded the white linen pants with trepidation; should he remove them and wash Edward further? The boy's lower half stunk worse than the rest of him, but Carlisle was hesitant. He was a doctor; he'd seen countless naked boys. But never before had he been attracted to one. It felt like he would be crossing a boundary that he shouldn't. The boy would never know, though, would he? It was unlikely that he was coherent enough to register what was happening anyway.

Decided, Carlisle hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Edward's pants and drew them down his legs. Carlisle was dumbfounded for a moment. He had expected the boy to be wearing an undergarment, but then he remembered that undergarments were just one more obstacle to the use of a bedpan in the hospitals. And so, Carlisle was unprepared for the abrupt view of the boy's private area. The vampire couldn't help but stare for a moment—he'd never really stopped to pay close attention to another man's genitalia before—not unless there was something wrong with them, that is. But there was nothing wrong with Edward. It was impossible to tell the true size of a penis when it hung flaccid, but Edward's looked average. He was uncircumcised, much like Carlisle himself. Carlisle stared perhaps a bit too long at the small pink head shrouded by the loose hood of skin. Reddish brown hair surrounded the root and spread over his scrotum, which was neither saggy nor boyish. No, Edward had matured in that area already.

Taking an unnecessary breath through his nose to try to calm his awakening cock only made his desire worse. The pungent scent of the sweat wrought from numerous fevers wafted from the crevices between Edward's legs, making Carlisle desperately want to taste him. Thinking himself terribly inappropriate, he closed his eyes to regain his sense as he dipped the rag back into the basin. After wringing the excess water from the rag, Carlisle returned his attention to the boy's body. He was startled to find Edward's penis not as lax as before, but somewhat firmer. Perhaps it was an involuntary reaction to the change in temperature, Carlisle reasoned to himself as he began to wash the boy's legs. Working up the courage to wash Edward where he needed it most, Carlisle started at his feet and worked his way up to the boy's thighs. He tried to keep his eyes averted, but as he ran the towel over Edward's inner thigh, he saw a movement from the corner of his eye.

Startled, Carlisle drew back. The boy still laid there, not having moved an inch, save for his cock. It was slowly beginning to fill, no doubt from Carlisle's tender touches. He should stop. Really, he should. But Carlisle could not stop. His own cock filled in kind, and his hand moved of it's own accord, slowly moving the rag up the inside of Edward's thigh to the spot where his scrotum met his body. He held the sweaty testicles in the cool rag, gently rolling them in the wet cloth, and his eyes widened as he watched Edward's cock grow before his eyes. Once it had filled to capacity, Carlisle licked his lips, the pressure in his trousers mounting exponentially. Edward's cock was thin, but long, and it stuck straight up like an arrow, a small pool of liquid emerging from the tip.

Unthinking, Carlisle groaned and slid his free hand into his trousers, squeezing his own length to relieve some of the pressure. It felt amazing, so he kept moving his hand, slowly at first, gradually gaining speed. Dropping the rag from his other hand, he dipped it in the cool water before wrapping his fingers around the boy's stiffened cock. It had to be cleansed, but a rag might be too rough for such sensitive skin, wouldn't it? Yes, Carlisle had to use his hand.

Carlisle stroked his cock and Edward's in tandem, his pleasure mounting swiftly. He felt a heat spread from the base of his spine into the pit of his groin, and with an exaggerated cry, he spilled his seed into his tight fist. His other hand continued to stroke Edward, and though the boy showed no outward signs of pleasure, his penis twitched in Carlisle's palm, and his seed spurted onto his stomach.

Using the rag to wipe the emission from Edward's abdomen, Carlisle mentally admonished himself for taking such advantage of the helpless boy. He was disgusted with himself, but he took solace in the knowledge that Edward was unlikely to remember any of this once the transformation was complete.

Dropping the rag back into the basin, Carlisle removed his shirt and trousers, but kept his undergarments on. He curled his cool body into the prone boy's side, hoping his icy skin might help to mitigate the constant burn that Edward was sure to still be feeling. His mind wandered, reflecting on his physical reactions to the bath he had just administered. That was surely not what Edward's mother would have wanted. Carlisle wanted the boy, but would the boy want him? He decided that he would not act on his basest yearnings ever again. It was beyond inappropriate; it was wrong. He came to the conclusion that he would simply act as the boy's mentor, raising him to live his way of life, like a son. Anything more would be wildly improper. Carlisle would be satisfied with the act he had just committed and suppress his gnawing desire. It was the right thing to do.

Another dawn crested the horizon, and Carlisle sensed more venom than blood in the boy's system. The change was nearly complete. Carlisle imagined that Edward might be able to listen to and retain information, so Carlisle began to explain what was happening to him, what he was to become. He explained what it was to be a vampire, and that his throat would yearn for the blood of humans, but that they would live a different way. He described how he drank the blood of animals instead, and that it was enough to survive on; the only way to retain any shred of humanity. Carlisle talked to his unresponsive progeny through the night, until the sun rose in the sky once more.

Finally, Carlisle heard Edward's heartbeat pick up in speed. Swiftly, Carlisle rose from his position pressed against Edward's body, replacing the boy's pants, as well as his own clothing. Edward's heart pounded in his chest at an incredible speed; Carlisle feared it might beat through his ribcage. Finally, the heart slowed to stop and silence filled the room. Carlisle stood several yards away, fearful of the boy's reaction upon awakening. Edward lay still for several minutes. Carlisle started to worry that perhaps he had done something incorrectly; that the venom had been enough to alter his appearance, but not enough for him to rise again.

Just as Carlisle began to believe that all hope was lost, there was a sharp gasp and the boy's eyes flew open. They darted around the room as he laid motionless, save for the panicked rise and fall of his chest. Finally, the boy's blood-red eyes met Carlisle's. It had been so long since he'd seen a vampire with crimson eyes, and Carlisle gasped in surprise. The boy's brow furrowed as he stared at Carlisle for a moment, still not moving from the bed.

"D...Doctor?"

"Yes, Edward. I am Dr. Cullen."

Edward sighed and closed his eyes, a soft smile playing across his lips.

"I thought I heard you."

* * *

**A/N:** No song this time...Edward was too incoherent ;)


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**February 1919**

Edward had been a vampire for three months. At first, Carlisle had worried that the farmhouse would be too close to the city to remain there while Edward was a newborn. But, as luck would have it, Edward had fallen into his lap on the cusp of winter, and the people of Chicago sequestered themselves indoors during the blistering cold of the season. So, Carlisle felt no need to leave just yet, but once the season began to show the first signs of spring harkening, they would have to move on. Edward's control was nowhere near where it needed to be to live in relatively close proximity to humans, even though the farmhouse was located several miles from the city. Carlisle was resolved to move them to an uninhabited area filled with wildlife to keep them sated come March.

For the first time, Carlisle was thankful for the influenza. Not only was there less population to worry about, but he did not find it necessary to return to the hospital to put in his resignation. The staff would no doubt assume he'd contracted the disease himself and succumbed. As terrible as he felt about leaving them without word, it was necessary. He simply could not leave a newborn vampire alone, not for one minute.

He had spent every moment of every day teaching Edward to control his lust for human blood, taking him out to feed on animals more than was probably strictly necessary. Edward proved to be a rather messy drinker—he was savage in his desire for the elixir that flowed through the veins of the creatures, and it was not unusual for him to be covered head to toe with gore and fur when he was finished. After so many washings, Edward's clothing had become stained and threadbare—Carlisle would have to find a way to get him something new to wear.

Not that Carlisle was complaining. Edward was a heartbreakingly beautiful creature. The thin linen pants were tattered at the ankles from running through the woods—Edward proved to be a skillful and speedy runner. The top button of the fly had long since been lost, and the second button was barely hanging on. Carlisle couldn't help but steal glimpses of the thin line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband, remembering the crop of curly reddish-brown hair that it led to. The long-sleeved cotton shirt was so worn from multiple washings that Carlisle could see the boy's flat, dusky nipples through the fabric, and Carlisle longed to tease them to a peak with his tongue. Carlisle indulged in these thoughts freely whenever the boy was around, knowing that he would never act on those desires again.

Despite Edward's willingness to learn from Carlisle about this new way of living, Carlisle had a sinking feeling that the boy was hiding something from him. There were times when Edward would huddle in a corner, his hands grasping the sides of his head in desperation. Maybe it was the bloodlust; maybe it was grief over his parents' death and the loss of his humanity. Carlisle longed to comfort the boy, but when he tried to get close to him in these moments, Edward would shy away, glaring at him and shrugging him off. Newborn emotions were volatile, and anger was a dangerous feeling to deal with, so Carlisle forced himself to let Edward be when he acted like this.

It was foolish of Carlisle to expect the boy's complete trust. Carlisle had shepherded him into this half-life; he could hardly blame the boy for his resentment. So, Carlisle would pretend not to notice, and let Edward work through his emotions on his own. But beneath his cool facade, Carlisle's soul ached for Edward. He wanted Edward to trust him, to care for him as he cared for the boy. But, if that were to happen, it would take time, and time was certainly something Carlisle had plenty of. So he left Edward alone, and fantasized about the day Edward would come around. He only hoped the boy would open up to him soon.

Several months passed since Edward had been turned, and his emotional episodes became less and less. He began to open up to Carlisle, telling him stories of his former life at Carlisle's encouragement. Carlisle explained that if he did not think on his human memories often, they would disappear altogether. Edward lamented that many of his remembrances had already gone, but he relayed the episodes he could recall, and he seemed to be calmer afterwards. Carlisle relayed stories of his past in kind, not only to make Edward feel more comfortable with him, but also so the boy would know who Carlisle truly was. He wanted Edward to know him; he wanted Edward to know everything.

On the eve of the next full moon, Edward requested a hunting trip. They had gone hunting only four days prior, but the newborn's thirst was strong—he needed to feed far more often than Carlisle himself. On this night, Carlisle was also ready to drink. He hoped they would find a flock of deer to make it easier for them both to feed.

Instead, they stumbled upon a stray dog—a large canine resembling a wolf—and Edward took it down without hesitation. The dog fought for its life, but it was no match for Edward. Its claws scrabbled against Edward's marble skin as the vampire latched onto its fur, crushing the bones beneath, and tore its throat out unnecessarily. It barely had time to whine. Edward drank its blood swiftly; his body crouched over the animal, the linen pants stretched taut over his muscled rear end. Carlisle unconsciously licked his lips at the sight, feeling his traitorous penis begin to stiffen in his trousers. He willed himself to look away, but he could not tear his eyes from the boy's lean form. He longed to run his tongue along the curve of Edward's spine.

Edward shivered and dropped the dog from his clutches, turning to face Carlisle with a feral look in his eye. Although Edward had gotten more discreet about his feeding over the last month, this time, he had reverted back to his more messy ways. Blood soaked his shirt and ran in long streaks over his chin and down his sinewy neck. Having not fed in three weeks, Carlisle found himself unbearably thirsty, looking at all of the blood that Edward had so needlessly wasted. His thirst overcame him, and Carlisle's feet moved forward of their own accord, his instinct to lap up the remainder of the blood taking over his conscious mind.

Some blood had trickled out of the corner of Edward's mouth, and the trail ran down his neck, pooling in his collarbone. Carlisle leaned in and licked it up, making Edward's body spasm at the contact. The newborn stared at him with wild eyes as Carlisle pulled back to look him over. The boy's shirt was completely drenched.

Carlisle was surprised to hear his own gruff voice. "Take it off."

Edward's eyes grew wider and darker at the prospect of being half nude in front of the man. He complied without hesitation, dropping the material to the ground beside him. The blood had seeped through, staining his snow-white skin a deep red. Carlisle struggled to ignore the tent in his pants, while taking clear note of the tenting in Edward's own trousers, and set to work cleaning him off, his tongue lathing the boy's skin ravenously.

Carlisle was acutely aware of the groans coming from both he and Edward as he licked the blood off Edward's chest. When Carlisle's tongue grazed Edward's hardened nipple, the boy gasped and his hips bucked involuntarily. Pulling away abruptly, Edward bent down to grab the discarded shirt, coating his hands in the blood. Carlisle pulled back and watched as Edward shoved his bloodied hands down the front of his pants. Carlisle's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met Edward's lusty gaze. The boy smiled at him crookedly, beautifully.

"What are you waiting for? I'm not yet clean."

Carlisle battled between his desire to lick the boy clean and the bounds of his morals. He'd already surpassed a line; it felt wrong to go further. He did not want to take advantage of the boy again.

"Please, Carlisle. I want you to."

Carlisle shuddered and met Edward's eyes. The boy looked at him as though he could hear Carlisle's innermost thoughts.

"I can."

Aghast, Carlisle took a step back. "You…you know my thoughts?"

The boy simply nodded, and, unbidden, shameful memories flooded Carlisle's mind. The day in the hospital when he thought Edward might kiss him before the nurse burst through the door. The fantasies he had of becoming one with him. The bath he had given the boy while he burned…had he been aware of what Carlisle had done?

"Yes."

Carlisle stared at the boy, appalled at his own behavior. But Edward did not seem to be upset by the act, judging from the way he stared at Carlisle now, his eyes burning with need.

"At first, I was…confused. I felt…drawn to you from the moment I saw you in the receiving room of the hospital, when you told me of my father's passing. I have spent these past few months grappling with my feelings for you. Your thoughts were overwhelming—your fantasies of me. I'd never entertained such thoughts before; I'd always been taught that it was sinful for a man to lie with another man."

Carlisle nodded. _They are._

"For humans, perhaps," Edward replied, shrugging. "But I've decided. I no longer care if my feelings are wrong. You desire me." Edward stepped closer to Carlisle, so that their faces were mere inches from one another. "And _I_ desire _you_. Please, Carlisle. I want you. I want you to cleanse me."

Edward was so close; Carlisle could feel his warm breath wash over his face, just before Edward leaned in and pressed his bloodied lips to Carlisle's. For a brief moment, Carlisle allowed the gentle kiss, before his wits returned. Edward was akin to a child—this was wrong, so wrong. Carlisle could not bring himself to encourage it, no matter how much he wanted to.

Carlisle placed his palms upon Edward's bare chest and gently pushed him away. "I'm sorry," was all he could say, before he turned and ran back toward the farmhouse as fast as he could, hearing Edward call desperately for him from behind.

* * *

**A/N:** Have I forgotten to praise my fabulous and dedicated betas? Shameful of me, as they have been with me on this story every step of the way. I blame pregnancy brain... I love you, Nancy and Audra! You're the best!

Voting is opening soon in the Slash Backslash 4.0 contest! I've written an entry for it; I wonder if you can figure out which is mine. Regardless, there are a lot of wonderful entries—head on over and read them, and vote for your favorite when the time comes!

slashbackslash DOT livejournal DOT com

I will not be able to update again until mid-October. I am moving apartments over the end of this month, and then going on a vacation to Los Angeles for a week, so I will not have internet access for a while. I will, however, continue to write during that time, so there should be an update ready as soon as I get internet back! I hope you'll stick with me and wait out this short hiatus. Thank you for all of your support!


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** My most profuse apologies for taking so long to update. Hopefully lots of smuttiness will make up for it...

Thank you to my fabulous betas, remylebeauishot and harrytwifan, for being so speedy and just generally awesome!

_**February 1919**_

Carlisle ran as fast as he could back to the farmhouse, away from the boy who tempted him to ignore his morals. Edward was faster than he, and could have easily caught him, but thankfully the boy did not follow him.

The vampire skidded to a stop once he'd arrived at the shack, throwing open the door and hurling himself inside, closing it behind him and leaning his back against the door. As if that would actually keep Edward away. If the newborn wanted to, he could easily push past Carlisle's stone body and take whatever he wanted from him. But for now, Edward was leaving him be.

Confused, Carlisle sank down and sat on the edge of the dingy mattress resting on the floor, his head clasped in his hands. Visions of Edward's blood-soaked torso flooded his mind; the memory of the taste of the wild dog's blood mixed with Edward's own flavor causing his cock to twitch. Angry at his own body, Carlisle slapped himself across the face, but it did nothing to calm the sensations in his groin. He simply could not rid himself of sexual thoughts of the boy. The farmhouse itself was no escape; the place was inundated with the scent of him.

It was true that Carlisle wanted Edward. That much was clear after what had happened during the ill-conceived bath he'd administered. As shamed as Carlisle had felt afterwards, he had allowed himself to gaze at and fantasize freely about the boy, not knowing that the newborn could hear what he was thinking. Edward knew of the bath and he knew of the thoughts, but instead of being repulsed by them, the boy had just confirmed that he enjoyed it—that he was open to exploring his sexuality further with his sire. Carlisle should be happy about this.

But his firm Anglican upbringing kept creeping into his mind—God frowned on two men fornicating. Carlisle still believed that he might be able to gain the favor of God, even being the monster that he was. He went against his very nature to follow the path of righteousness; surely God would allow him through the gates of heaven should he ever perish. If he laid with another male, his careful efforts may have been for naught.

Edward was approaching now; Carlisle could hear his slow footsteps, and smell his scent growing stronger. He wondered if Edward had heard his conflicting emotions—how far did his ability reach? The door to the farmhouse creaked open and, somewhat reluctantly, Carlisle turned toward the sound. There Edward stood, his linen pants still soaked in blood, more concentrated at the juncture between his legs where he had tried to entice Carlisle by dousing his private area in the elixir. Carlisle shuddered involuntarily, knowing that the boy still had blood lingering there.

A small smile flickered across Edward's lips before he could suppress it, and he took a few steps further inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. The two men stared at one another for several long moments, Carlisle's mind devoid of thought, Edward's—well, who knew. Finally, after what seemed an endless silence, Edward's mouth opened, but instead of speaking, he began to sing.

_You gave me all your love in one day_

_You gave it all and almost faded away_

_I'm going to take this sad and unread issue_

_In my arms tonight_

Carlisle couldn't control the swelling of his dead heart—the boy had made up a song for him. Enraptured, Carlisle turned his body to face Edward fully, sitting up on folded knees on the mattress. Edward smiled and stepped ever closer as he continued.

_Looking at hospitals victorian_

_Feeling as helpless as the elephant man_

_Wish you were here_

_To chain you up and without shame_

_In my arms tonight_

Edward joined Carlisle upon the mattress, mirroring his position. They faced one another, only inches away.

_I ain't a soft and saccharine wannabe_

_Still I pray to God this song will end happily_

_So I offer you a place to rest and forget yourself_

_In my arms tonight_

Edward wrapped his arms around Carlisle then, drawing him close to his body. He leaned in to Carlisle's ear, softly whispering,

"Carlisle, I know the needs you have. I have them too. We can help each other."

The song, combined with his Edward's close proximity, broke down Carlisle's willpower. Though he was still wary of God's wrath, he simply could not deny the deep, dark desire he harbored for the boy, both in his heart and his trousers. Edward's cheeks rose with a knowing smirk, which only made him more enticing. Carlisle suddenly wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk from his face and have this cocky boy at his mercy, begging for his touch.

"Yes, Carlisle. Please."

Without thinking, Carlisle grasped the boy's coppery locks at the base of his skull and crushed their lips together. The vampire had never kissed another soul, but his instincts took him over, their mouths moving together in earnest, their tongues entangling to connect more deeply. He felt his chest heave with unneeded breath, and his hands itched to feel Edward's skin, so he allowed it, exploring his chest and arms and back, making the boy moan with the contact and press his body closer to that of his sire.

Running his hands down the lean muscles of Edward's abdomen, Carlisle pulled back from the endless kiss, his fingers settling on the boy's waistband. The sound of his own voice was foreign to him—deeper, disembodied somehow.

"Are you still unclean?"

Edward's intense crimson gaze did not waver from Carlisle's as he simply nodded in response. As the elder vampire undid the two buttons that held the boy's fly together, his mind flashed with the memory of the boy's cock, and his own hand, stroking it to completion with the cool basin water. Edward shuddered as he shared Carlisle's memory, and his sire pushed the worn linen down over the boy's buttocks, watching as his hardened cock came into view. Carlisle gasped at the sight; the perfect cock of his memory was slathered in streaks of precious blood. Venom pooled in the vampire's mouth as he shoved Edward onto his back, quickly ridding the boy's legs of the entanglement of his garment.

Unable to resist (the vampire hadn't fed in weeks, after all), he ran the flat of his tongue up the length of that solid cock experimentally. A strangled cry caught in Edward's throat, and Carlisle looked up quickly, afraid that maybe he had hurt his boy. Edward's head was thrown back and his jaw was slack—he did not look to be in pain.

"Please, Carlisle. It feels so good."

Encouraged, and more than a little bit hungry, Carlisle went back to cleaning the boy, first licking in long strokes, and then taking the whole of him inside his mouth, sucking the remainder of the blood from his skin. The boy writhed and cried out beneath him, his hands finding purchase in Carlisle's golden waves. The sounds his boy was making, combined with the tugging on his hair and the taste of the blood, had hardened Carlisle's own cock to the point of pain, and he rubbed himself against the mattress for relief.

Deeming Edward's cock cleansed, Carlisle removed his mouth, making the boy groan in disappointment. But as Carlisle took in the sight of the newborn's flawless cock, he noted some specks of blood that had made their way to the sack beneath, and he bent his head to lap at those as well. The blood was less concentrated there, and Carlisle could more easily smell Edward's own musky scent. He breathed it in deeply as he licked and sucked his testes, reveling in the jolts of pleasure that radiated from his groin and up his spine. Gently, Carlisle lifted Edward's sack to cleanse the underside, where he caught sight of the furled skin fluttering between the boy's legs.

He rolled the boy's balls between his fingers as he stared at his entrance, which seemed to quiver under his gaze in anticipation. Carlisle found himself compelled to taste it, and ran the flat of his tongue between Edward's cheeks, making his boy cry out to the heavens.

"Oh, _God_…"

Carlisle's cock twitched at his enthusiastic response, and he longed to do it again. So he did, again and again, until Edward was moaning and murmuring incoherently. Carlisle drew back and kissed the boy's quaking inner thighs, all the while regarding that alluring entrance. He began to wonder what it might feel like to be inside—it looked so tight. He'd never experienced sexual relations with another, nor had he really considered he may get the chance to, but in this moment, his cock was screaming for it.

"Oh, please, Carlisle. _Please!_ I need to feel you inside me."

Carlisle raised himself up and sat on his knees, looking down at the beautiful, nude young vampire lying before him. Edward boldly met his gaze and held it, allowing his thighs to fall open and reaching down to stroke his own length.

"Fuck me, Carlisle!" he demanded with a growl.

All rationality seemed to leave Carlisle's brain in that moment. The vampire in him felt challenged; he would show this newborn who was in control. Edward smiled knowingly at Carlisle's thought process, further inciting the beast within. In a flash, Carlisle's clothing was gone, and he flipped the insolent boy onto his stomach, raising his hips so that he rested on his knees, spread wide for Carlisle's invasion.

Carlisle's fingers dug into Edward's hips and he got into position, lining himself up. He tried to surge forward, but he only bumped against the boy's entrance. After several more attempts, Carlisle let out a frustrated growl.

"Perhaps if you slickened yourself…" Edward suggested quietly.

Carlisle felt stupid for not having thought of it himself, but he brushed those feelings aside when Edward was suddenly facing him. For a moment, Carlisle had forgotten that the newborn was faster and stronger than he was.

"Maybe. But I still want you to dominate me," Edward whispered before he swallowed down Carlisle's length. The elder vampire's head fell back and he groaned deeply at the feeling of moisture and suctioning around his sensitive and eager cock. He could feel himself quickly approaching the precipice. Edward heard this and drew back, assuming his former position, presenting his rear end for the taking.

And Carlisle did not hesitate. He was able to glide inside of Edward much easier now, but he did so slowly, as the natural resistance of Edward's body created a tightness that was at once glorious and torturous. He bit his lip and fought to control his urge to come undone as he felt the boy's body stretch to accommodate him. Edward's back arched as Carlisle sank in to the hilt, and his boy let out a long groan of pleasure when he was completely filled.

Once Carlisle felt assured that he had enough control that their joining would not be over before it began, he began to move his hips, at first slowly, but quickly gaining speed as Edward's moans and movements encouraged him. Soon, they were moving in time, fast and hard, their sounds of pleasure growing more feral and animalistic as their pleasure built to the breaking point.

The strength of Carlisle's thrusts had pushed Edward to the other side of the mattress, and he braced himself against the wall of the farmhouse, which was shaking with their forceful movements. Not wanting to damage their only sanctuary, Carlisle wrapped his arms around the boy's chest and drew him close until his back touched Carlisle's chest and Edward sat upon his sire's lap. Carlisle held Edward in place as he continued to thrust up into him, the coil inside him tightening even more now that Edward's body was pressed against his own.

Carlisle wanted Edward to reach his pleasure too, so he wrapped his free hand around the boy's cock, squeezing and pulling in time with his thrusts. The boy's head fell back against Carlisle's shoulder, his chest heaving, his eyes rolled back in his head, his neck fully exposed. The sight was all too much for Carlisle, and he couldn't resist the urge to mark Edward. His teeth sank into Edward's shoulder as he released inside the boy. Edward cried out (whether in pain or pleasure, Carlisle wasn't certain), and his cock pulsed in Carlisle's hand before his seed spilled out, coating his hand and staining the mattress below them.

Spent, Edward collapsed against Carlisle, gasping for unneeded breath. Carlisle removed his teeth from Edward's neck and lapped at the wound, quickly sealing it up. Then, he licked his hand clean of Edward's emission, relishing the bitter taste on his tongue.

As they came down from their mutual high, Carlisle laid them down on the mattress, enjoying the feel of the boy's prone body beneath him. He could not begin to comprehend how wonderful their coupling had been; he was sorry he hadn't experienced it before in all of his time on Earth, but at the same time, he was glad that this boy was his first lover. This boy was special—he knew it from the moment he first laid eyes on him. He was sorry for his initial resistance, and he hoped Edward could forgive him for it.

Edward turned his face to the side, free of the mattress, so he could utter, "Of course I forgive you."

Carlisle felt himself soften and slip free of Edward's body, and they both sighed at the lost connection. Wanting to remain close, Carlisle rolled onto his back and drew Edward into his arms, until the boy's head rested upon his chest. Edward wrapped his arms around Carlisle's torso and their legs intertwined. Stroking Edward's hair, they laid in silence through the night.

_A place to rest and forget yourself_

_In my arms_

_Tonight_

**A/N:** Song is "In My Arms" by Rufus Wainwright.

Youtu _**DOT**_ be _**SLASH**_ oG9lFcO18gc


	7. Chapter 6

_**March 1919**_

The winter was lengthy during Edward's first year as a vampire, almost as though Mother Nature was mourning the dead. It wasn't until the last week of March that signs of spring began to show. In that final week of quiet safety, Carlisle began to think about uprooting Edward from the dingy cabin they called home, in search of a place where he could live out the remainder of his newborn phase without being a danger to humans.

Edward's eyes were beginning to take on a burnt orange color, like the autumnal sunset, but his control was as yet untested. And the newborn was beginning to grow bored and frustrated, cooped up in the farmhouse under the tight reins of his sire. They were too close to the city for Carlisle to let the boy run free, and he knew, once spring came and the humans spent more time outdoors, it would be near impossible to keep his hold on the young vampire.

It was time to move on, but where? The south was out—too much sunshine to be safe. The northeast was also not an option—too heavily populated. The west was risky, now that more and more people were migrating out there. The best option was due north, and it would have to be somewhere largely unsettled. The northern parts of Wisconsin were not too far and had plenty of wilderness. North Dakota and Montana had thick forests to hunt and hide in, as well as vast, open flatlands to run and enjoy the sunlight. And there was always Canada.

Carlisle absently mulled over possible locations as he lazily ran his hand up and down the spine of the boy curled around him. Edward scratched his long fingers through the light sprinkling of blond hair across Carlisle's chest, occasionally grazing a dusky nipple, making his sire's breath catch.

Edward had been insatiable since his sexual awakening. Carlisle did not mind; after all, he had centuries to make up for as well. He was more than happy to indulge the desires of his young lover—their endless days and nights were certainly kept busy, exploring one another's bodies. This was a good thing for Carlisle; it left little time to dwell on the fact that he was not working for the first time in hundreds of years.

A quiet whisper broke into Carlisle's thoughts. "You miss it, don't you? You should go back to doing what makes you happy." Although Edward was trying to sound upbeat, there was dejection in his voice.

Carlisle sought to reassure him. "I am doing what makes me happy, dear one," he said, stroking his fingers through the boy's silky copper hair.

Carlisle felt Edward's lips stretch into a smile against his skin in response to the endearment, and he was rewarded further when Edward tilted his face up to press a soft kiss behind Carlisle's ear. Capturing Edward's chin with two fingers, Carlisle brought their faces level, nuzzling Edward's nose with his own, breathing in the fresh, cinnamon scent of his boy. They shared a few gentle kisses, full of affection, feeling no need to deepen them.

Drawing back, Carlisle met Edward's gaze. They were glazed with infatuation, and Carlisle wondered what emotions his own eyes belied to Edward. Not that it mattered; Carlisle's every thought was laid bare to the boy—he had little need to read body language.

"Besides, my boy, you aren't ready for me to leave you. It would be too dangerous. We will see where we are in a year or so; then I will reconsider a return to work."

Edward smiled Carlisle's favorite crooked grin. "More like _you _aren't ready to leave _me_."

"You may have something there." Their lips met again with more fervor, joined by tongues and amorous caresses. Just as Carlisle was beginning to lose control, Edward abruptly pulled away, sitting up on the mattress with a far off look in his eye. After a moment, he returned his excited gaze to Carlisle, who was more than a little bit frustrated. Damn the short newborn attention span.

"Let's go to North Dakota. I quite like the idea of roaming free in the plains and hunting big game in the forests. It would be a nice change from all the deer around here," Edward said, his nose crinkling in disgust.

Carlisle laughed. "Well, there are a few things I need to take care of before we go. It is time to leave anyway; we can go tomorrow. There is nothing to keep us here, and spring is around the corner."

Edward nodded eagerly in reply.

Sitting up properly beside Edward, Carlisle stroked his fingers across the boy's chiseled cheek. "If you're a good boy and stay inside the cabin, I'll make you glad you did."

Edward drew his lip between his teeth and let out a groan. "Will you punish me if I don't?"

Smirking, Carlisle thought, _Not in the way you'd like me to._

Edward stuck out his plump lower lip in a dramatic pout while giving his sire puppy-dog eyes. Chuckling at the boy's impish behavior, Carlisle captured the newborn's mouth with his own, drawing that protruding lip into his mouth and running his tongue over it. He kissed him with a fervor barely restrained, his mind making promises of more to come when he returned. Tearing himself away, Carlisle rose from the bed as Edward lay back down and let out a soft sigh, watching his sire dress with unguarded affection in his eyes. The look warmed Carlisle's dead heart, and he vowed to return swiftly.

Confident that Edward would stay put for a couple of hours, Carlisle stole into the city under cover of night, stopping by his old apartment to pack up the few belongings he could not bear to part with—namely, his father's wooden cross. While there, Carlisle composed a letter to the executor of the Masen estate, masquerading as the young man, stating that he had survived the plague, but had left Chicago, as it was too painful to remain where so much that he knew and loved was lost. Carlisle requested that the Masen home be kept in Edward Masen Junior's name, so that he might return at some point in the future.

Carlisle left the apartment, the cross tucked safely in a large duffel over his shoulder. He set off to deliver his letter to post, before breaking into a menswear shop to take some fresh clothing for himself and his charge, wrapping his findings in brown parcel paper, and leaving money on the counter to cover the cost of the items he took. Checking his pocket watch, Carlisle found that he'd only been gone the better part of an hour and a half. Pleased with his speed, he headed back to the farmhouse, ready to leave for a fresh start with Edward at twilight the following night.

When he arrived home, he was greeted by Edward, still naked and waiting for him. But he was no longer lying in repose; instead, he was on hands and knees, his back arched, rump high in the air, one hand leisurely stroking his rock hard cock which was beaded with fluid, ready to be licked. The boy had a hungry look in his eye, and he licked his lips as Carlisle's eyes raked over his body.

_You're never satisfied, are you?_ Carlisle chastised in his mind, although it was apparent to Edward that he was not truly upset. "I brought you some new clothes," Carlisle said, ignoring the tent in his pants, and indicating the parcel he held in one hand. He liked to pretend he wasn't interested, even if Edward could see through his charade.

"What do I need clothes for?" Edward stated coyly.

Stalking toward his sire on all fours, his heavy, rigid cock bobbing between his legs, Edward used his velvety singing voice to his advantage yet again:

"_Just give me sex whenever I want it_

_'Cause all I ask for is instant pleasure_

_Instant pleasure, instant pleasure_"

Carlisle couldn't help but grin, his cock twitching within the confines of his suddenly too-tight trousers. His newborn was a feisty one. Dropping his duffle and the parcel unceremoniously, Carlisle swiftly shed his own clothes and lowered himself to Edward's level, taking him in his arms and giving them both what they wanted.

After all, there were plenty of daylight hours to kill before they would depart.

* * *

**A/N:** Song is "Instant Pleasure" by Rufus Wainwright.

Youtu _**DOT**_ be _**SLASH**_ 9_BFXvqBjvg

Big thanks to my very speedy betas remylebeauishot & harrytwifan!


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